Cafe Lieu Sur
by The ShaI
Summary: "When the world's a dangerous place, you need a safe place to stay at." Alfred stumbles into Arthur's cafe purely by accident one day. Unbeknownst to either of them, that accident would bloom into something neither of them would have ever expected.
1. Of worries and accidents

A wise man once said, "When the world's a dangerous place, you need a safe place to stay at."

* * *

Alfred F. Jones walked through the bustling streets of London, swallowing in the scene in front of him with unfamiliarity. British people walked here, British people walked there, British people were everywhere. British people were using red phone booths to call their family and tell them they were running late. British people were going into pubs to get extremely drunk, forget all their troubles, and stumble home in the dark at 12 AM midnight. British people were waiting for one of those huge red double-decker buses to whisk them away to wherever they were planning on going. British people were checking themselves in their compact mirrors to check if they looked decent enough to hold their heads high in public.

There were people, in general, everywhere.

British people, African American people, he thought he even saw Spanish, French, and Italian people pass by him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a couple of Asians, as well.

Alfred praised his lucky stars that he didn't have a nervous breakdown right then and there. He had never been around so many people at once. He had never been in the middle of such a crowded street, around so many strangers before. People talking on phones. People yelling for a "cab". People pondering whether to waste their money on delicious sweets in those window displays or not. Wind chimes clinking against each other to produce a melodic, nostalgic sound as people walked into cafes.

Alfred really couldn't take much more of this.

It was all his father's idea. Alfred was the son of the founder and CEO of one of the richest companies in the world, The Redmount Company. The company had connections to nearly everything and anything worth materializing and putting word out for. Smaller companies everywhere fell on their knees to beg for Redmount's sponsorship in their departments. People in general seeked out Redmount's approval. Redmount was usually the last say in any decision made.

Until now, Alfred had always been locked up in the huge mansion their family owned. He'd always been homeschooled, and was almost never let out to the real world by himself. He would be locked up in his gigantic room and left to play by himself. He'd been taught the strictest manners, wore the most expensive clothes, and had maids and servants waiting on him hand and feet.

You would think being the son of the founder of one of the most powerful companies today is just plain awesome. You get everything you want, whenever you want it, wherever you are, whatever method it takes to get it. But honestly, after 18 years of that treatment, you start getting bored, and start wondering what's missing in your life. You wonder, and you start wanting answers, but they're not easy to get.

The sandy blond sighed silently as he continued to think back. His father had apparently noticed something wrong, as well. Alfred was the only suitable heir to the company's throne. And the only one who was alive to do so; Alfred had been told he was an only child because his mother did not wish to be the caretaker of two sons. Not that she really took care of him in the first place. That was the maids' and servants' jobs.

Alfred's father had addressed his son personally about what he was to do one night at dinner. They rarely had dinner together unless it was to punish Alfred or commend him extremely on a job well done. However, it wasn't any of those. Now that he was 18, he needed to nurture his social skills in order to work with bigger company representatives in the future. He didn't need to worry about the intelligence part; that was taken care of in his early years by the finest tutors and teachers in the world. However, his father noticed a "lack of power in the social department".

He ordered Alfred to reside in London for a year. Because one of Redmount's biggest branches was situated in London, England, he figured it would be a perfect place for Alfred to grow his social skills and meet some powerful executives, as well. Apparently, Alfred wasn't ready for America yet; London was "safer" to start with. Why he said it, Alfred didn't know why. Why ship him off to a foreign country when his natural habitat was in America?

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when he bumped into something. A tall, brown-haired British man, clad in a gray business suit with a white Oxford shirt underneath, looked down at Alfred and gave a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry," he said, and sped off. He looked like he was in a hurry.

Alfred froze. What was he supposed to do in this situation? When someone said "I'm sorry", his personal maid told him to say "It's fine" or "It's okay". But he missed his chance, as the British businessman was already halfway down the street. He figured it wasn't socially acceptable to chase him down and say "It's okay," so he turned and continued walking down the street.

He REALLY couldn't take this much stress any longer.

It was actually a miracle he didn't bump into anyone else until now. The streets were crowded, more crowded than the pictures Alfred saw on the Internet before he landed in London. It was also a miracle Alfred didn't pass out yet. He didn't know why, but he felt like people were staring…staring at him. Staring at him. Staring. Staring. Staaaring. Staaaaaaaaaaaaring.

Oh, God. Was it his clothes? His father had picked out a complete wardrobe of socially acceptable clothing for him to wear (to take as reference to when he shopped for more clothes). Right now, he was wearing a white hoodie with a sky blue hood and pockets, a white T-shirt, and blue jeans with simple blue and white sneakers. He even had blue headphones around his neck to seem casual, to seem social. But did that seem too coordinated, too thought out? Was the color scheme too organized? Was it too American, and no resemblance of anything Londoners would wear? Was it too obvious that he had no social skills whatsoever, and he had no say in what his wardrobe looked like? Not that he'd have any idea what was socially acceptable, but still.

Was it his hair? He always had that one stubborn little cowlick that defied gravity and always sprung up proudly. But other than that, his sandy blond hair was combed into place, so that it wasn't flying everywhere. He hated when it happened for no reason at all. His hair really may have been the reason.

Was he sweating? God, he hated it when he started sweating. On any other person, it may have looked attractive, but on him, it looked like someone had dumped a bunch of water deliberately on his head.

Or was it his face? His maids had always commented on his looks by saying he easily fell into the "handsome" category. He had well-defined cheekbones, straight, Hollywood-style teeth, a nicely shaped nose, and round, bright, sapphire eyes that made him look happy and excited even when he was down. Did the glasses ruin his image? Did it fit his stature? Should he have gone with his usual contacts instead?

Was he too scrawny? Or perhaps too fat? His days in the mansion also came with a mandatory 1 hour workout twice every week with a personal trainer, and he did have well-toned muscles, but did that look bulky in his hoodie? Could it be he was too pale? No, that couldn't be. He enjoyed basking in the warm glow of the sunlight as he read comic books in the library secretly. Sometimes, in the summer, when it got too hot, he'd sneak in wearing only his boxer shorts and read to his heart's content, accidentally getting a small tan during his adventures with Tom Sawyer.

Did he seem haughty, or a tad bit too confident? That couldn't be, right? He was the furthest thing away from confident, so haughtiness was out of the question. Did he seem spoiled? He could see how someone could come to that conclusion.

Were people even staring at him with scorn or disdain? The looks he spotted weren't really ones of hate, but of curiosity and maybe a hint of admiration? No, he couldn't think that yet, that would jinx his growing social skills. No, it wasn't. They were looks of unfamiliarity, the kind that lions used when they marked their territory and protected it. Right?

But wait, maybe he was reading into this a bit too much. No one would pass by every single person in London and judge them based on calculating thoughts. Unless he stood out that much, to be able to be distinguished from the rest of the people around him.

Alfred's head hurt. He didn't want to walk anymore. He wanted to duck into a random shop and hide out until it closed. He wanted to hide.

And that's exactly what he did.


	2. Of introductions and a sudden request

A bell chimed back and forth as Alfred pushed the doors to a small shop, the nearest shop he was around at that time. He ducked in, stumbling a bit as he stepped inside.

He was a bit surprised to see someone staring at him when he lifted his head.

The person was staring at Alfred with bright and curious emerald eyes. He must have been one of the most gorgeous men Alfred had ever encountered. He had messy, shaggy, light blond hair, and the bushiest pair of eyebrows Alfred had ever seen in his life. On anyone else, the eyebrows may have looked quite unattractive, but it seemed to be one of the more defining features of the man. It seemed as if without it, it would be hard to distinguish him from the many other blond men in London. The male looked to be about 20 years of age, if not less. He was clad in a white dress shirt (it seemed like a lot of males in London were fond of white dress shirts) and a black pair of pants, with a long, black apron going down the front. He was holding a large broom in his hands. And he didn't look too happy to see Alfred.

"This establishment is closed temporarily for lunch break," the blond finally spoke. As he did, Alfred noted that not all British people had messed-up teeth, for this man had a beautiful, Hollywood-praise worthy set of straight, clean teeth. He had the smoothest and yet sharpest British accent Alfred had ever heard since his language classes when he was 13 years old. "Did you not read the sign?"

Alfred blinked. The sign? What sign? He must have missed it while he was stumbling in here.

"I…" he tried speaking, but his throat was so clogged up from not speaking at all the whole day, words couldn't make their way up like they usually would. They bubbled up at the edge of Alfred's throat and huddled together for warmth. It was either because of the stress that had been stacking up the whole day, or the fact that this person would be the first person Alfred would speak to outside of his mansion, and he didn't know what to say. Most likely the latter.

"I'm…sorry," Alfred managed. "I, um…"

Those thick eyebrows knit together as Alfred tried to make his sentences coherent.

Surprisingly (and thankfully), he was stopped before he could finish speaking.

"Well, as long as you're here…" the man sighed and placed the broom against a nearby table. "Do you want some tea?"

Alfred stood agape, mouth half-open in an unspoken sentence. Until he realized the Brit wanted an answer. To which he nodded absentmindedly. Why the sudden change of atmosphere, Alfred didn't know. But he figured he would go along with it, as he really had no other choice.

The Brit patted the table next to the table he put the broom against. Alfred sat down in one of the fancy, yet home-reminding French-style-twisted-up chairs.

As the other walked into what seemed like the kitchen, Alfred looked around the place he stumbled into.

The place reminded Alfred of a stereotypical home than a café. More specifically, a living room connected to a kitchen room. He sat in a French-style chair, across from an identical, yet empty seat, with a small, round, black café table in between. There were several more of these around him, all neatly placed, and it seemed to be the threshold, or divider between the living-room and the "kitchen". He looked to his right, where he spotted a huge, red, and very soft-looking sofa against the wall furthest from him (he was near the door), with loveseats at the sides, and a lone, cushion-y seat next to each loveseat. There was a big coffee table in the middle of it all, and to the wall across was a real fireplace, not quite lit yet. To the wall adjacent to both aforementioned walls was a lovely arched window with a wispy curtain the tone of a ripe peach, and a rose-like design was delicately painted onto the glass.

Alfred's eyes rounded. This was the kind of setting he only read about in fairy tales, only got to see in magazines. His family's mansion's "living room" more of a ballroom or a guestroom than a regular living room. He never got to experience any normal things. By far, this trip to London was the most normal thing he'd ever experienced so far in his life.

Alfred turned his head to the left, studying the area in that direction. It was much smaller than the area to his right, at least in terms of appearance. There was a granite counter with a glass window on the bottom, to show the colorful, yet simple array of cakes, tarts, and other delicious pastries and sweets, with a price card next to each individual sweet. On top of the granite countertop was a bunch of menus, it seemed, and a silver cash register. Behind the counter was a wooden stool on which the cashier could choose to sit on, and behind the stool was a yellow door that read "employees only" in French script.

He looked above him to find that he was sitting directly beneath a white arch with wreathes of bright red English roses spiraling around it that separated the kitchen and the living room, with the tables for customers below it.

"I see you've taken a liking to this café?" Alfred jolted, startled. His thoughts ran off somewhere as his blue eyes focused on the man's emerald eyes. The man was carrying a metal tray with two teacups in one hand, and didn't look as angry or confused as before.

"I don't know," Alfred shrugged and looked down. That had always been one of his bad habits. He always tended to look down at his feet when a businessman or someone of that caliber came to negotiate with his father, and the maids always berated him for that.

"Look at someone when you're talking, it's improper to not do so." The Brit seemed to read Alfred's thoughts, scolding Alfred like the maids always did. Alfred looked up in shock. Coincidence much?

"I…" Alfred swallowed. "I'm sorry,"

"It's hardly anything to be sorry for, I used to do it all the time." The Brit no longer looked irate as he settled onto the chair across from Alfred. He set the tray in the middle of the table, carefully as to not spill any tea. With two delicate, pale, and seemingly dexterous fingers, he picked up the handle and brought it to his mouth. Alfred noticed a bunch of needle marks on his thumb and forefinger, most likely from stitching or sewing.

"I'll assume you're enjoying your stay in London, Mr. American?" The man seemed to smirk from behind his fragile teacup as he took a sip of the hot, sweetened water.

"Huh? Oh, um…" Alfred wasn't surprised that the man knew he wasn't from London, but to know exactly which country he was from…

"You're staring at the teacup as if you have no idea what to do with it. And your accent is, admittedly, obnoxiously American." Okay, now Alfred was SURE he had a teasing tone to his voice. He was SURE of it.

"Well, obviously, you're not British either, I thought Brits held their pinky up as they drink their tea," Alfred countered. Needless to say, that sounded a lot better in his head.

The man looked amused. "Really? That's the best thing you can come up with? I'd have expected for a snappy-dressed person like you to have some wits, but I guess I was mistaken."

Alfred sputtered. "Well, I-!"

"No, not all of us Brits hold our pinkies up as we drink tea. What a stereotypical idea. The very thought of it! It may have been custom back in the day, but now… " The Brit sighed as he droned on. " Times have changed."

He turned his attention back on Alfred. "So, what brings you to London?"

Alfred started to speak, but shut his mouth. He remembered one of the maids telling him to never reveal his true intentions for coming to London, because people get greedy. Greedy people turn annoying. Greedy people turn desperate. And that causes trouble for Redmount.

"I'm here on vacation." Alfred said simply. Figuring to go with a safe, simple explanation, Alfred blurted out the first thing he thought of. It seemed plausible enough.

"Fair enough," The other said before sipping his tea again. "However, I supposed a fellow like you would be here on a business trip of some sorts."

Alfred shrugged and looked down into his teacup. There was a little pool of brown gathered up into that one tiny porcelain cup, probably tea. Alfred wasn't really too fond of tea, as he opted for coffee or soda instead. Tea tasted exactly like its definition- slightly sweetened liquid. Alfred preferred strong tastes that left an impression on him rather than bland, boring tastes that dissipated quickly.

"So, as long as you're here, let us get to know each other. What is your name?" The Brit asked, gazing directly into Alfred's eyes. Alfred noticed that the Brit's green eyes looked almost as if they were dancing up close, the way they twinkled and tried to tell a story amongst the murky yet emerald-like forest that was his eyes.

And now Alfred was panicking. What was he supposed to do in this kind of situation? 'Okay, think back to your past, Alfred,' he thought to himself, vaguely aware that he was starting to sweat. 'What did the maids tell you?' The thought of the maids at home calmed him down just a bit, as he recollected his memories to form the customary expression that was used to greet people.

"Now, Alfred," he remembered his lesson with one of the maids in terms of social etiquette. "When you introduce yourself to someone, you must introduce yourself first. Include your name, your age, where you are from. However, you must never tell them your real name. Remember, greed causes trouble."

Wait, the man never introduced himself. And it was customary to do so!

"I…isn't it proper etiquette to introduce yourself first? You know, before asking for my name!" Alfred figured this would give him enough time to think of an alias.

"Ah, I was hoping you weren't as sharp as you looked. Very well, I suppose it is customary for me to introduce myself first. My name is Arthur Kirkland. I am 22 years old, and I was born right here in London. I work here as the café manager and a waiter, have been for the past 5 or 6 years." He sipped his tea once more and nodded at Alfred. "That's all for me. Now, you."

Alfred forgot that he was supposed to be thinking of a temporary alias while Arthur was speaking, he was so absorbed in the tiniest bit of information Arthur let out.

"My name is Alan," Alfred blurted out. Oh, Alan? So that was the best he could come up with in a short amount of time? He honestly overestimated himself; he thought he was smarter. "A-Alan Jones." Okay, Jones was a pretty popular last name in America. Arthur couldn't possibly connect his last name to the son of the founder of Redmount. If he even knew what Redmount was. If he was a die-hard supporter of Redmount, he'd probably know what Alfred F. Jones looked like, at least when he was little, and possibly match that face up to Alfred now. However, it seemed that wasn't the case, so Alfred relaxed a little.

"Urm, I'm 19 years old, and I've lived in America all my life. Specifically, New York. And, uh, I'm a college student, in Columbia University; I'm sure you've heard of it. I just needed a small breather from all those exams and projects, you know?" Alfred gave a light chuckle at that for two reasons; one, it seemed entirely mundane and plausible, so no suspicions would rise, and two, he was on a roll. He didn't feel that uncomfortable when talking to Arthur anymore, and that was a huge step from square one.

"I see," Arthur nodded. "That is quite unfortunate. You will have a lot of work piled up when you get back, seeing as how Columbia University is an Ivy League. Not that I would know."

"Oh, dude, it's fine. It's only the amount that seems like a lot, the length of the projects isn't that much themselves…and tests aren't as hard as you think, if you just know what you're doing." Seriously, Alfred? Dude? When did he even learn such a term- Oh, right, those nights where he stayed up late just to watch Scooby-Doo must have rubbed off on him.

"What kinds of projects do you have?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, you know…" Alfred stopped to think. What were appropriate subjects for college? And what kind of studies did a person like himself seem to specialize in? "Law, justice and stuff." Alfred smiled a little. He did love reading about heroes in his spare time. His favorite superhero of all time was of course, Superman, but he also took a liking to Captain America and Martian Manhunter. "I'm a big fan of justice. When I was little, I wanted to be a hero so I can protect people from evil! I still want to, but it just seems so childish now…"

"It isn't childish at all," Arthur smiled. Alfred's heart seemed to skip a beat when Arthur's lips turned up and stretched a bit more than his scowl. It was brief, but Arthur looked very pretty when he smiled, if pretty was even an appropriate description for a man. "I…I think it's very nice, that you want to help people in need."

"Really? That's awesome!" Alfred was delighted Arthur did not think any less of him, especially after confessing a child-like dream he had. "Yeah, Columbia's fun, but no one really listens to me. Not even my dorm buddy!" He was glad he researched all of this before coming to London.

And then he realized. Here Alfred was, having a mundane, everyday conversation with a stranger he'd just met in a café. He wasn't even wary in the slightest, when in other cases, he would have been contemplating his decisions slowly and carefully, we calculation. It was like Arthur had cast a magic spell on him, that calmed him down and just made things flow naturally.

"A-anyway, university's fun and all, but you have to work hard, or you'll see a big change in ranks. I mean, ranks are basically everything in life in general. If you want a good job, then you'd have to be the best in your class. And even then, people may overlook you because there's always someone better than you!" Alfred babbled, trying to keep the conversation up.

"Is that so?" Arthur looked like he was genuinely interested in "Alan's life story", if not a bit insulted at what he said. "I would have no idea, for I dropped out of high school. Used to go to Oxford, but it was just…too much. Not that you'd understand what happened." He looked down at his cup of tea with some sort of mournful look in his eyes, as if to either reminisce about his high school years or mourn for the tea that was no longer in the cup.

"Woah, I never thought you were the type to, you know, party hard." Okay, even Alfred had to admit, he sounded obnoxiously American. Maybe that was a turn for the good, maybe it blended him in with the rest of the stereotypical American society. Or was it to obvious that this was all a façade? Someone as seemingly as observant as Arthur could have figured it out in a jiffy.

"It's not due to "partying hard", as you said, what an idiotic suggestion. You Americans jump to the queerest of conclusions. It's due to…some other technicalities that I really do not wish to speak of right now." Arthur gave Alfred what was supposed to be a glare, effectively silencing him.

"Ah…s-sorry." Alfred mumbled, looking guilty as he toyed with the tiny handle of the teacup.

"No need," Arthur shook his head lightly, standing up and collecting his own teacup and Alfred's, placing them neatly on the silver tray and carrying it back to the counter.

"Lunch break is almost over, and Francis, the other manager and "chef", will probably arrive soon. You should get going; if he finds out I let another person stay during the break, he'll wring my neck. Not that I wouldn't fight back, so to speak." Arthur called from the counter.

Alfred nodded blankly, staring after Arthur. Breaks…and working, huh? Was this better than sitting down at a desk every day, signing paper after paper and negotiating with various companies, trying to remember the good ones and bad? It certainly seemed more interesting and sociable.

Sociable. Sociable. Sociable. What Alfred had come for.

Maybe, just maybe, he could gain knowledge, gain a firmer grasp on the handle of social life, by working at this place. It seemed plausible; people came in and out of cafes all the time, didn't they? Whether it be to cool off or a quick visit, they came in and out, and social contact was inevitable.

The waiters took the orders from the customers, and customers had to request what they wanted from the waiters. He knew some cafes even took phone call orders, which was a social contact in itself.

And this would be a huge experience for Alfred! He would learn how to act around people, actual strangers who breathed the same air as he did and walked on the same ground as him! This would be a breakthrough in Alfred's life! A huge breakthrough!

That is, if Arthur consented.

"You're still here?" Alfred's attention was turned to the Brit who was sauntering over to him with eyebrows a bit furrowed with confusion with a mix of annoyance. "I told you, I can't have Fran-"

"Let me work here!" Alfred blurted out. And then he remembered the proper term for asking favors from other people that made him seem politer than he actually was.

"Please!"

* * *

**This is such a fun story to work on, especially because I actually have to think up a deep plot for this, and I love it. Takes my mind off of Regents week, coming up soon. :/**

**Anyway, to all those who favorited and reviewed the last chapter, I really appreciate it. I wasn't expecting any reviews or that many favorites/story alerts for the first chapter, but you motivated me to stay up late and finish the second chapter! :D**

**Next update will probably be up on the weekend. Gotta play League of Legends. xD**

**Thanks again!**

**-Shai-chan**


	3. Of rejections, apartments, and neighbors

"Absolutely not," came the Brit's harsh, blunt answer.

Alfred was a bit taken aback by this, and Arthur looked like he was replaying the words in his head. Alfred thought that you'd get what you wanted if you said please! Then again, maybe the outside world wasn't exactly like his mansion.

He slowly realized that what he had said about ranks was true. In the mansion, he was almost top dog, which was probably why everyone practically bowed at his feet. That was why his maids and servants scrambled to their feet even when they were on their break when he requested for even the smallest of things, such as a book to read. And it seemed now that those requests were the silliest of things, like asking for some water when the kitchen was but a few steps away.

It dawned on him that maybe he wasn't exactly the nice guy he thought he was. He felt his expression change into one of horror as he thought back to all those times he had whined for something he wanted, shunned his maids and servants, putting their jobs in jeopardy, and no one had the gall to reprimand him, out of fear for their job.

Was he spoiled?

His lips drooped as he thought about that. He could have been considered spoiled. No, he definitely WAS spoiled. There he was, the son of the one of the richest people on Earth, not to mention the heir to the throne, the power of Redmount. And that was a huge deal. And if you were even a morsel of dust in his life, you could have been considered the next biggest thing in society.

Because ranks were everything.

He was literally snapped out of his trance when Arthur snapped his fingers repeatedly in front his face a few times, in an irritated manner.

"Alan. Alan. Alan!" Arthur called out a few times, as if the snapping wasn't enough. Who was Alan? Oh, right. The bogus name Alfred gave him to avoid suspicion. He'd have to get used to the name "Alan" soon, because he couldn't afford to trip up. From what he had observed, Arthur wasn't exactly the patient type, or the type to listen to his explanation as to why he lied.

"Oh. Yeah?" Alfred was pulled down to reality once more.

"Like I was saying, you are absolutely not allowed to work here. You are too inexperienced, and besides…we don't need the help."

"What? How am I inexperienced?" Alfred asked, immediately regretting it. He knew the answer as soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"You have absolutely no people skills, Alan!" Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me, but it's entirely true."

"I know! But come on, please?" Alfred pleaded. "This might help me get social skills!"

"Alan, I'm sorry, but you don't seem to understand." Arthur sighed. "This is a café, not someplace you can use to acquire social abilities."

But Alfred was determined. And once he had his mind set on something, it was really hard to tear him away from it. He wanted to work here, no matter what. It was a form of business, which could help him in the future when he had to talk with other businessmen. And, of course, the social skill-learning that came with it.

"You don't have to take me now," Alfred continued pleading. "You can consider it at home! Or wherever you want! But just know that, uh, I'll come here every day until you reconsider!"

Arthur seemed taken aback, his eyes widening into a "what the Hell" kind of expression. Alfred reflected his expression, wondering what the Hell really did compel him to say that. But he liked what he said, and he wasn't about to take it back.

Arthur looked away for a second, before returning his gaze to Alfred with determined eyes, eyes that said he wouldn't give into Alfred's ministrations.

"Okay, you have a deal." Arthur smirked, unbefitting to the situation at hand. "You come here enough times and make yourself useful, maybe I will reconsider."

Alfred took a step back, but held his ground. "F-Fine!"

Then he turned on his heels to storm out.

A second later, he spun back to Arthur and smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, uh, can I get the address of this place? I kinda just stumbled in here by accident."

* * *

After Alfred got the address of the café, he trudged on back home, the loft his father had rented out for him to stay at. The problem was, he was still relatively new to London, so he got lost and ended up getting to the apartment at sunset. Tired and stressed out from being around so many people for a long amount of time, Alfred pushed his way through the revolving doors that led him into the lobby of the apartment, a homely lobby with mail cubbies to the left wall and a stream of mirrors to the right, so that busy people could check themselves out quickly before leaving for work. Alfred approached the elevator that cut off one end of the mirror from the other, and pressed the up button. Luckily, the elevator came down fairly quickly from the second floor, and had no people in it. Alfred wasn't ready for an elevator interaction.

Alfred studied the elevator as he was taken to the top floor, the 8th floor. There was a small, cushiony bench people could sit on in the back, and a set of buttons that had the numbers 1 to 8 on some of them and various other commands on everything else. The top was made of metal, an emergency exit carved into the surface. To his left and right were two fancy Victorian-era-looking mirrors. This apartment building seemed to be fond of mirrors.

Alfred reached in to his back pocket for his keys. He realized his keychain was so bare compared to what other people had. While he was lost, he saw various people taking out their keys for whatever reason, and saw that it wasn't just a metal ring with 2 or 3 keys on it. He only had a set of two keys, but other people had a key ring filled with keychains and car keys. He made a mental note to fix this problem later.

His loft wasn't gigantic, like the mansion, and he knew he had to adjust quickly. The living room was filled with boxes, a sofa and TV sitting opposite from each other on the other side of the room, illuminated by the sliding window that seemed bare without curtains. He walked inside, kicking his way through boxes and taking a right into the small hallway that led to his bedroom, workroom, and bathroom.

He checked that everything was intact in his bedroom. More boxes were scattered about here and there, and the bed in the far corner of the room seemed to be the only thing that was somewhat homely. He peeked into his workroom, where two boxes were sitting in a corner. This room seemed to be the neatest of all the rooms, with a desktop computer on one side of the room, a chair in front of it, and a rotary phone on the other side.

He gently closed the door and walked across the hall into the living room, to the stairs that led up to the second floor of the apartment. The second floor was entirely bare. There was nothing but a flat expanse of a wooden floor, and a circular window on the furthest wall. Alfred really had to decorate his place soon.

Sighing, Alfred climbed down the stairs to go to his bedroom. Then he froze, because a sudden realization smacked him upside the head with a baseball bat.

In movies and TV shows, new neighbors always greeted their next door neighbors with something to commemorate their moving in, like a basket of cookies or an arrangement of fruits in a basket. Or vice versa. But Alfred always felt it was more polite to give the neighbor a proper hello, so that you grew closer together and depended on each other for things, like the characters did in _The Big Bang Theory._ Well, he wouldn't depend on his neighbor as much as Penny did with Sheldon and Leonard, but if he was ever short on something, he would just stroll across the floor to his neighbor's house and knock on the door.

Good thing the apartment didn't have a bunch of rooms on one floor, or Alfred would have been very confused as to what to prepare for each and every individual on the floor. Or was it customary to give a gift to every person in the apartment? No, it wasn't like he needed to be friendly with EVERYONE in the apartment. Maybe he would greet the person living across from him first, alone, then bypass other tenants throughout the course of which he was staying there.

So what kind of present would he give the neighbor? First he'd have to actually see who the neighbor WAS.

Was it socially acceptable to stand in front of their door until they came home? Something told Alfred that it wasn't. So what could he do? Maybe he could pretend he lost his keys and sit out in front of the door…YES! It was brilliant.

He went outside to the hallway which separated the two opposing rooms, closed his door, and locked it. He then paced around, trying to think of a plan to meet his neighbor.

Alfred would act like he was looking for his keys as soon as the elevator bell dinged or footsteps were heard in the stairwell. Then he'd ask the neighbor if he could stay over while he called the superintendant for a spare pair of keys. It was ingenious and flawless! Unless the neighbor was a woman. Then Alfred would have to think of something else, because he, wow, he really could not deal with new women. He was used to his maids, who were generally old or at least in their mid-30s, but young women…in the books he'd read, and shows he'd watched, they were far harder to associate with than someone of his own gender. Way harder.

In any case, he had to pray his neighbor wasn't a woman. PRAY. He was so locked up in his hopeful praying and planning that he didn't hear the elevator bell ding. He didn't even hear the doors of the elevator slide open and the person step out. He also didn't notice how the person had just stopped in their tracks, not moving from where they had stationed themselves, studying him carefully with a look of surprise and remembrance.

He was only snapped out of his thoughts when a familiar British accent called out to him, his name, no, his "name", in that snappy, no-nonsense, yet somewhat curious melodic tone of a certain young man he had met earlier today...

"Alan?"

* * *

**Sorry I haven't updated in, like, forever...I've had some things to do since the end of the school year is approaching fast.**

**The next chapter may be a bit late as well, and I apologize deeply to you, my wonderful readers. I just have a lot of personal and school-related problems to work out, then I'll be back on track.  
**

**Anyway, please look forward to more! This story is so fun to write...and read again...  
**

**The layout of the apartment building itself was mostly based on my own apartment.  
**

**I'll be accepting any questions you have and posting the answers in the next chapter~  
**

**And so the plot thickens! Or thins!  
**


	4. Of coincidences, tea, and religion

Alfred was frozen to his spot on the floor, as the Brit made his way closer over to him.

"What in the name of Jesus are you doing at my bloody apartment?" Arthur asked, looking both angry and highly confused. A look Alfred had memorized from earlier that day.

Alfred didn't know what to say. Did this make him seem suspicious or anything? Well, obviously, if he was but a few feet away from the home of a person he had just met earlier on that day, there was reason to believe he was a stalker of some sort. Oh, God, he didn't want to make a bad impression on the first person he had met in London!

Arthur looked quizzically at Alfred, until said man got uncomfortable and started fidgeting. It was only then he had noticed Arthur wasn't looking at him, he was looking over him, to the door that led into his house. Alfred whipped his head around, mentally face-palming himself for forgetting to lock the door. His maids constantly reminded him to be careful in the city, as burglars lurked everywhere. That was never a problem in the mansion, as bodyguards and security cameras were lined up everywhere. However, London was a different story. Though not as bad as people said New York was, London was still a huge place, with many people of different backgrounds wandering around.

In any case, he had left his door open, and Arthur probably saw the mess of scattered boxes inside. He tried to shuffle in the direction of Arthur's gaze, but knew it was futile.

"Are…are you…" Arthur started, leaving Alfred to interpret what he was going to ask.

"Uh…yes….I'm your new neighbor!" Alfred tried to carve a smile onto his face, making it seem like it was totally natural that such a coincidence had occurred. "I…believe we've met already?" It came out more like a question than a sentence, but it was fine. It wasn't like this situation could get any more awkward.

"Ah, yes, so it seems." Arthur cleared his throat, ripping his eyes away from the pigsty that was Alfred's house and trying to focus his eyes on the owner of the house. "How…have you been since this afternoon?"

Alfred shrugged. "I've done this and that,"

"I presume you just moved here? Or is this a temporary dormitory for your vacation, or whatever?" Arthur raised one massive eyebrow, skeptical.

"I guess, uh, yeah, it's as you say" Alfred mumbled. He smiled awkwardly.

It was situation analyzing time. Was it acceptable and polite to invite Arthur into his house, even though it looked like it had just gone through a massive ransack? Or was it considered rude to invite a person into your house after you've just moved? Was it acceptable to put the invite into the room off to another day with the excuse of "my house looks like it just got whisked away by a hurricane to the Land of Oz. Oh look, Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore. Whoop-dee-doo.

"Um…" Alfred bit his lip. "W-would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, or something?"

He was more than a little surprised when Arthur froze in place, seemingly scared. His eyes had quickly converted from irritated green to frosty leaves, a look of one who went through many wars, much betrayal, hurt, and a very scary situation, for lack of a better word.

Alfred never really showed it, but he was rather observant. He'd just kept it all to himself, acting like he never noticed anything he wasn't supposed to, making him seem innocent, if a bit dense and airheaded.

But the way Arthur's eyes had frozen in place, the way he seemed to stop breathing, it was all just so horribly terrifying. And the fact that Alfred didn't know what to do made it even scarier.

"Arthur…?" Alfred said slowly, trying to see if he was okay.

"Hm? Oh, goodness, I suppose I've spaced out some. So, about your house. No, I don't think I should go into that pigsty of a house. Rather, I will treat you to something at my place, instead. Come."

Ouch, that hurt. He didn't exactly have to point it out verbally, in that blunt manner of his. But it still got Alfred a free ticket to Arthur's place, without him having to pull off some awkward acting! This was great! Also, it was convenient, as it was easier to move around when you're not dodging random boxes arranged on the ground.

Alfred followed Arthur into his house.

Arthur's house was exactly how Alfred had imagined it. Everything was orderly, and it was designed exactly like Alfred's, the interior, only it was much, much neater and organized. One would think he had a paranoia disorder if they didn't know who he was. Then again, that could still apply. Instead of boxes cluttered around everywhere, the floor was neat and orderly, with not a single scratch on the shiny wooden floor, much like the attic of Alfred's family's mansion. Except these floors looked like they were shined 24/7, the way they reflected their images like a mirror.

On the counter was a single bowl of fruit that looked too good to be real. None of the fruits were blemished in any way, at least from where Alfred was standing. He looked to the right, where a lone white sofa sat across from a coffee table very similar to the one on the café. On the table was a bunch of sewing material, knitting needles, and a cold cup of tea, all neatly arranged and not splattered about everywhere.

He saw that there were no stairs leading up to an attic room in Arthur's house, but he did see a patch of square that probably sealed off where the stairs were supposed to be. He reasoned there was actually an attic up there, just not for Arthur's use, probably because he didn't have enough money to pay for one.

Other than that, he caught a quick glance of the layout of his bedroom and bathroom (which, again, were very similar to Alfred's) before he was called over to the white sofa to have a cup of tea.

"Just wait here, I'll go start up a new batch of scones and some tea."

Alfred nodded as Arthur went off to the kitchen to start cooking. He looked around the room. Alfred noticed that all of his curtains were personally embroidered, with swirls of English roses everywhere with some famous English phrases hidden between seams. A bunch of other embroidered works were hung throughout the living room, and Alfred suppose they'd be everywhere in the bedrooms and bathroom as well. Even the table under the glass of the coffee table was covered with a beautiful work of embroidery. He noticed the TV had a little embroidered cap on it, making the TV seem innocent and adorable.

He felt the seams under him, and knew he was sitting on an embroidered mat. It felt nice to the touch; it felt like hard work, serenity, and English roses.

Oddly enough, Arthur didn't have any family photos lying around anywhere. It wasn't like Alfred had pictures of his family everywhere, but he did have one or two of him and his mother, and one of him and his twin brother on their first day of school. But Arthur didn't have any pictures anywhere. Not even a drawing. Not even a painting. That struck Alfred as odd, though he realized he never really expected Arthur to be much of a sociable person, with his short temper.

Having finished his quick scan of Arthur's house, Alfred leaned back in the sofa and intertwined his fingers on top of his lap, thinking what would be perfect for Arthur's gift. He obviously seemed to love embroidering, was that a British hobby? He could get Arthur some exotic threads or whatnot, but something told him Arthur was perfectly fine with the thread he had now. Also, if it were too exotic, then Arthur would probably get suspicious about his connections. What about tea, then? No, it seemed Arthur had plenty of teas in his house. His house smelled strong and bitter, like the tea he was brewing now.

That left Alfred stumped. Perhaps a new tea set would be nice? But did that seem to plain? He figured British people were around tea sets all day, so it wouldn't be much of a gift. Alfred was so frustrated. Why couldn't he think of one socially acceptable gift to present to Arthur.

"Here's your tea, Alan," Arthur carried a plastic tray with a flower pattern printed on it, a fragile-looking teapot with a two teacups neatly arranged on it so that they wouldn't fall.

"Thanks," Alfred said, smiling but not exactly meaning it. Even in the café, he hadn't thought about it, but he drank that tea out of common courtesy. After all, declining tea after a perfect stranger offered you tea was, even Alfred knew, considered rude. But honestly, Alfred preferred the strong taste of coffee or the energizing quality of soft drinks over the bland taste of tea. However, it seemed the tea was the most he would get out of Arthur, so he swallowed his wants and took the teacup from the tray gratefully.

"You're welcome," Arthur said as he poured the scalding hot tea into Alfred's teacup. Alfred quickly retracted his hand from the bottom in fear of getting burned, and focused his strength into the two fingers holding the handle.

"So…" Arthur started after pouring tea into his own cup and blowing at it. "We're neighbors. Would you look at that."

"Look at what?"

"It's a figure of speech. You don't get around much, do you?"

"You have no idea," Alfred laughed breathlessly, trying to sip the tea but burning his lip instead.

"Well, in that case, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself?" Arthur requested, gazing at Alfred intently.

"What do you want to know?" Alfred asked.

"Anything is fine. Family background, personal life…"

"Oh. Well, uh, my parents are middle-class citizens of the United States. We live in New York, as you'd already know, and, uh, yeah." Alfred scratched his chin awkwardly.

"That's it?" Arthur cocked one massive eyebrow. "Being a New Yorker, I expected you to be full of words."

"That's so stereotypical."

"I'm sorry, I cannot help being the way that I am," Arthur chuckled.

Alfred stared at him. Arthur looked so serene right now. Maybe it was the embroidery that surrounded the both of them at that moment, or the very feminine teacups and saucers in their hands right now, but Arthur looked at ease right now.

And at that moment, Alfred knew Arthur wouldn't be like the other people he knew in his life. Alfred was so used to being around people who were easy to figure out. Most peoples' wishes in life was, put simply, riches. And they did anything they could to have it, backstabbing others, lying, and cheating to get to the top. Alfred looked down on those type of people, which meant he looked down on most of humanity. Not out of haughty giddiness, but disdain. Of course, being a rich boy, he wouldn't have understood why people did what they did.

But Arthur was different. It didn't seem Arthur was the kind of person who used others for money. It didn't seem like Arthur was even remotely interested in money. Well, sure, he needed an ample amount of money to pay his rent along with other life necessities, but he didn't seem like the type of person to just stress out over this kind of thing. At least not to the point of becoming a bad person. Becoming the present definition or humanity.

Of course, it could have all been a ruse, like those shiny, laminated, and often graffitied- on posters about how great a country was, with smiling people and huge houses and empty promises everywhere. But somehow, Arthur seemed legitimately different.

And Alfred also knew Arthur would be hell to figure out.

"Well, we're still on the verge of being complete strangers, so it's natural to feel uncomfortable about telling me personal things. For all I know, I could be a secret agent trying to extract information from you."

Alfred gulped, hoping it wasn't visible enough for Arthur to see. Arthur probably didn't realize the inherent irony inside his words. Imagine it was intentional.

"Y-Yeah," Alfred tried to go along with the mellow atmosphere Arthur was setting up.

"I wonder what kind of queer coincidence caused us to become neighbors, right on the first day." Arthur chuckled. He looked happy when he chuckled, Alfred noted.

"I know right," Alfred let out an awkward chuckle, as well. "I wonder what He's doing up there, putting us together like this?"

Arthur stayed silent for a moment. "You believe in God?" he asked.

Alfred stared at him in confusion. Up until now, he hadn't even heard of anyone not believing in some sort of God. Especially when the person who'd said that had said "What in the name of Jesus are you doing here?" just a while ago. He knew, even though he was Christian, that there were other religions, but all of them believed in some sort of God or figure. And here Arthur was, asking if Alfred believed in God. Didn't one of his maids once tell him there was something called "atheist", someone who didn't really believe? But the idea seemed so otherworldly to Alfred.

"Of-of course!" Alfred blurted, shock evident in his voice. "Doesn't everyone?"

Arthur shook his head, an amused smirk hinting on his lips. "You really don't get around much. Not all of us believe in the miracles God supposedly creates. Especially when He loves twisting your life for His own amusement."

But before Alfred could launch into an argument, Arthur hushed him. "I don't want to get into religion right now. It'll end up ugly, anyway. I know from experience. Besides, once you've seen the other side, it's very hard to go back…" Arthur sighed, and his emerald eyes seemed to be shrouded in the past.

Alfred stared at him a moment longer before slumping back into the sofa. Who knew there were people who didn't believe? But this was Arthur, and he probably had a logical explanation for it. But like he said, they weren't very close yet, so it probably was awkward to talk about personal issues this early on in their friendship. Friendship? It seemed they had created a strong bond in such a short amount of time.

Maybe that's what friendship really was.

"Oh, look at the time," Alfred cheeked the cuckoo clock on the wall opposite from him, which read 8:30. "I think I have to go. You know, unpack stuff."

Arthur nodded, placing his teacup back on the tray along with the flowery saucer. Alfred did the same, and stood up. He shifted awkwardly.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?" he hoped Arthur wouldn't say no, after that brief religious viewing.

"It would be my pleasure," Arthur smiled. "If you ever need help unpacking, just call me over. I'm good at organizing things."

Alfred gave a tight smile back, then started to walk, but stopped when he smelled something strangely familiar to smoke.

"Uhh…I think something's burning." He pointed out.

Arthur looked puzzled for a moment, then immediately stood up, eyes wide, and took off for the kitchen. "Bloody Hell, my scones!"

* * *

**Bloody fuck this is late D:**

**I'm so sorry, I apologize, the end of the school year was nearing, I'm packing my things for a vacation...things have been hectic and this poor baby has been sitting here forever. Well, now I have a lot of time, so I'll be able to string out new chapters more often. :3  
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**Please look forward to more! As always, I thank all my readers, favoriters, and reviewers for their kindness and patience and constructive criticism. You people are the reason I keep updating (albeit a bit slow ^.^;;) 3  
**


	5. Of Frenchmen, pleadings, and home safety

The following day, Alfred woke up slowly and groggily to find himself in the midst of his moving boxes. When had he passed out? He tried to recall the memories of the night before. Soon after he closed the door to his home after visiting Arthur, he had gotten to work on organizing the boxes and taking stuff out of them, sometimes reminiscing on the times he had with this object, and regretting he ever brought that object. He was in the middle of unpacking his room when drowsiness overcame him. He tried to blink it out, but he eventually succumbed to the sleepiness and conked out right there on the floor. It was nearing midnight, he could tell, so he was perfectly content with resting his head on one of the many boxes and snoring slightly.

Alfred hadn't unpacked half the things he had brought.

He groaned as he tried to get up. There was a searing pain in his back, caused by sleeping on a foreign, wooden floor that he wasn't used to. Alfred sighed. This was going to be Hell to deal with. He pounded on his shoulders, but all that got him was a bigger clump of pain that refused to stretch out.

Yawning, Alfred slowly got up and walked to the kitchen, figuring he could just press some pain relieving patches on them later.

Never mind. Why risk social interaction when he could just wait the pain out?

He set his hands on the counter and yawned a bit more. At this time, his maids would already be setting the huge dining table with silverware and breakfast. But now he had to fend for himself.

Fend for himself.

Fend for himself?

Alfred sighed, not used to fending for himself.

He could cook, thanks to a necessary course in culinary skills. However, he sensed that there wasn't anything to eat or make a decent breakfast in the fridge.

He groaned loudly.

He wobbled over to the refrigerator weakly to look for something to eat, but sadly found nothing than a pack of now cool water bottles and a box of candy bars.

The American slapped himself inwardly as he made a mental note of shopping for groceries later. But then he stopped himself. What was the point? It would result in needless social interaction, and he wouldn't know what was socially acceptable to eat in England, anyway. What if he got stared at for buying the wrong stuff?

Alfred would have to ask Arthur to help him later.

He closed the fridge, disappointed. He had to come to terms with his social life someday. Alfred knew deep inside that he would have to hunt for food at some point.

…hunt for food? What was he, Katniss Everdeen?

No, he was Alfred F. Jones, this wasn't District 12, and he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

He told himself that throughout the morning, throughout the news and weather forecast, throughout his freshening up, all the way to Arthur's café.

* * *

"Welcome," an unfamiliar voice called. Alfred froze immediately, mid-stride. He'd expected a scolding, smooth, yet somewhat rough, British voice welcoming him. This voice sounded, busy, flamboyant, with a tinge of French to it. He wasn't used to it. Therefore he immediately went back into his shell and tried to analyze the situation. Who had called him? Probably one of the employees. That was safe, right? To talk to an employee.

"Uh…" Alfred looked to the source of the voice, his own blue eyes meeting another pair of blue eyes. These eyes, however, were playful, with a flirty tone to them.

"_Bonjour, monsieur~_" The man called, after fixing his attention on poor, scared Alfred. He didn't seem to notice the tense aura around Alfred, or if he did, he simply didn't care, as he smiled even wider, decorating a small cake-looking object with pink frosting.

The man had shoulder-length, wavy blond hair that was currently tied into a low ponytail as he squeezed the frosting tube in an intricate pattern. He had thin facial hair, especially some stubble surrounding his chin. His eyebrows were significantly thinner than Arthur's, but then again, it was hard to imagine anyone else that looked good with Arthur's bushy, caterpillar-like eyebrows. His eyes were different from Alfred's, although the same color. His was almost crystalline in structure, and sparkled brightly, like he wasn't nervous at all. He wore a crisp, white chef uniform, so Alfred guessed he was most likely the chef of this small café.

"This café is not open yet, _mon cheri_, but you can feel free to wait here until it does. I seem to have forgotten to change the sign. Force of habit, no one in England is up this early, usually. Only busy businesspeople." The man nodded toward one of the tables and chairs, inviting Alfred into their welcoming embrace. He'd just realized it was 6 in the morning. He was never much of a sleeper, anyway. It was weird, though, he'd thought it would be later than 6 by the time he arrived. He needed more sleep.

Alfred twiddled his thumbs as he continued to analyze the obvious. He confirmed the fact that this man was French. It was kind of obvious from the man's accent, and the way he managed to mix French into his words so fluently. Alfred knew what he meant, since he had to master some basic French as part of his language course. Of course, French was never his forte. He preferred Oriental languages over romance.

"Would you like some water, or tea, perhaps?" The man asked.

"A-Ah, no, that's fine…" Alfred refused, looking down at the table. Then he remembered what Arthur had scolded him about, to stop looking away from people when they spoke. So he lifted his head and gave a weak smile to the Frenchman as he took his seat near the counter where he was frosting the cake.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy, chef of this quaint little café. I assume this is your first time here?" He asked. So, Francis was his name. And he was the chef. Alfred was right.

"No, I actually came here yesterday…I guess you weren't here." Alfred coughed into his fist, recalling yesterday's events.

Francis grimaced. "Then I assume you had to put up with Arthur? The fact that I wasn't there to see you must mean it was lunch break."

Alfred nodded, the weak smile turning a bit stronger. He decided right away that he liked Francis. He talked to Alfred, a complete stranger, like it was natural to have a smooth, nice conversation with someone he'd never met before. Well, Arthur had talked to him, but his tone of voice made Alfred want to get up and run out of the café. And he certainly lacked the initial hostility Arthur had exposed to Alfred.

"I apologize for Arthur. He can be a bit…xenophobic." Francis sighed.

"Oh, no, he was…well…" Alfred's voice trailed off as he registered what Francis had said, and applied it to Arthur. Yes, if one wasn't as perceptive as Alfred, Arthur would definitely come off at least a bit xenophobic.

"Well, I guess. Is he always like that?" Alfred tried laughing lightly. It came out like hacking coughs. He immediately blushed and hoped Francis didn't notice. He didn't.

The Frenchman nodded in response to Alfred's question. "He is. You wouldn't understand, but his life was riddled with a lot of hardships he'd just barely managed to overcome over time."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. This was news. One he hadn't heard of. Of course, he and Arthur were just getting to know each other, so he hadn't expected a whole opening up to him upon meeting. Or was he supposed to expect it? Was he supposed to give a sappy background story about the hardships of a first-world citizen?

Sensing Alfred's confusion, but for all the wrong reasons, Francis went on. "Once you're acquainted with Arthur he becomes a bit more bearable. He has a lot of trust issues, but once he does starts liking you, he turns significantly nicer. He ends up pissing many people off with his attitude, especially when it comes to religion. As you know, England is quite the religious country. And…well, I feel like we're invading a lot of Arthur's privacy now, so I'll stop before I go into the danger zone. Please do forgive me."

Alfred bowed his head a bit so he could hide his surprise. Why was this complete stranger just suddenly telling him random facts about Arthur out of the blue? What danger zone? He wanted to know more, but at the same time, he knew Francis was right. He'd be revealing too much to Alfred, also known as the strange American who happened to stumble into the café accidentally at 6 in the morning. Why was he telling Alfred this, anyway? Even this much information was supposed to be confidential, wasn't it?

"I, I see. It's fine." Alfred was at a loss of what to say, and he certainly didn't feel like voicing his thoughts out loud to Francis, in fear of losing his hospitable, friendly personality. Was he supposed to share this kind of thing with Francis? He didn't know.

Francis nodded, putting the froster down. "I know you're probably thinking 'why is he telling me this? And in such a broken, quick pace, as well?' But I figured I could trust you with this, especially because you don't seem to hate Arthur. A lot of people tend to drift away from him because of his stubborn coldness. But you didn't, that's why I knew I could trust you. And I sense you two will become better acquaintances in the future.

Alfred looked up. "Why?"

Francis chuckled. "Because you're Alan, aren't you? You fit the description perfectly."

Alfred was confused for a moment. "Eh?"

"Arthur told me all about his new neighbor, a strange, tall man who happened to come inside the café at lunch break yesterday, and how he seemed to take a small liking to the stranger. An American with sapphire blue eyes, glasses, and a stubborn lock of hair that refuses to meld in with the rest of his blond hair."

Oh, right. His alias, Alan.

"…So?" Alfred still had no idea where Francis was going with this.

Francis leaned across the counter and rested the weight of his upper body on his elbows. Alfred's eyes drifted off to the Frenchman's arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves. They were covered with a thick layer of blond hair. So it was true what they said, Europeans don't shave. Not that Alfred shaved, no. He just had very little body hair compared to Francis.

"I know this is a very weird and sudden request, but could you possibly…make friends with Arthur?"

Alfred blinked. "Huh?"

"And at 6 in the morning, too!" Francis laughed, obviously intent on finishing his request without tending to Alfred's confusion. "I'm sorry, I know this is all very sudden, but could you please overlook the insecure being that Arthur is and try to become acquainted with him?"

"Wait, why- "

"It's very hard to explain. Just please try and do as I say for now. It will all come into place with your own efforts."

"But-"

"In exchange, you can have free samples of the cakes I make in this café, any you want and anytime you want them, as long as you are acquainted with Arthur."

"I don't under-"

"Please, Alan?" Francis looked pretty desperate to Alfred. Which was pretty sad, a grown man looking desperate and sounding like a worried mother whose child had no one to confide his feelings with other than his own family. Which was probably what Francis felt like right now.

"Wait, but, what? I don't underst-"

"Frog, what are you telling poor Alan?"

Alfred's ears perked up. There was that scolding, smooth, yet somewhat rough, British voice. Although it wasn't directed at him, he felt more at ease now that Arthur was here. Now he knew exactly two people in the land of England. And somehow, he didn't feel uncomfortable, but peaceful. He felt serene.

He felt like he was in a second home.

"Oh, Arthur, _mon ami, _I see you're looking as horrid as ever?" Francis leaned back up, grinning at Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Don't call me that. And whatever I look like, it will always be better than you."

Alfred stared at Arthur as he made his way to the employees-only door behind the counter where Francis was. Arthur? Insecure? Hardly, it seemed, from the way he insulted Francis and put himself on a higher pedestal just like that. Arthur caught Alfred's eyes before he went inside.

"I see you're here. That explains your opened door this morning. This may not be New York, but you should really be more careful with your home security. I locked the door for you, by the way. Leaving a key under your mat isn't really safe these days, even in an apartment complex." As Arthur talked, he dug in his pockets and threw a key to Alfred.

Alfred's house key.

"Thank you," Alfred mumbled.

"You're welcome. I see now that 'pigsty' is an understatement for the state of destruction your home is in."

Alfred's smile turned weak again, not knowing what to say to Arthur's snide comments.

"Well, I can tell now you're dedicated to try and snag a job here, seeing as how you're here so early in the morning. Even I'm not here this early, and Francis is merely required to be. We'll see how long it lasts."

Before going in, Arthur turned. "You can watch us work today and decide if you still want to work here."

Alfred nodded quickly as Arthur finally opened the door to the employees only room, probably to change into his work outfit. He had come to the café in surprisingly normal clothes, for an Englishman, anyway. Green sweater vest with a button down underneath, and dark khakis with matching dark shoes.

Francis gave a sigh and turned to Alfred, winking at him, as if to say, '_You'll get used to it_'.

He then started to saunter off in the direction of the door, but then stopped at Alfred's table. "Oh, and one more thing…" he leaned over to Alfred so that Arthur couldn't hear from inside the room. His voice tickled Alfred's ear, and he couldn't help but wince.

"Let's keep this a conversation between you and me."

* * *

**I aplogize deeply once again for being so late with this update. I didn't know what to write without making everything seem awkward, so I've been working on this for about a month.**

**I would also like to thank you all for the reviews. -bows deeply-  
**

**This is the first time I've hit double digits in reviews, and I thank you all for your kindness and patience in reading this work, and bothering to stop and review. All those faves have made me happy, as well. Not to mention all the new watchers I'm getting. I feel like don't deserve all your love and kindness. So to each and one of you right now, I thank you very much. I love you all. 3  
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**On the other hand, now that I have nothing to do, I will try and keep up the chapters in a steady pace~  
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**And you are awesome if you get the Hunger Games reference. :3  
**


	6. Of noticings, shock, and drunkards

"Be friends with Arthur, he said," Alfred muttered under his breath. "It's important, he said."

Alfred stared at Arthur sauntering from table to table, back turned to the American as he wrote down orders from customers.

Alfred sighed, the back of his hand supporting the weight of his head. He'd been sitting in one of the back tables for a while now. What was it, maybe three, four hours since opening time? It was a long time, for sure. He figured the business was the kind that popular as the clock reached noontime. Or maybe it didn't get popular at all. He didn't know.

Alfred continued to make observations about Arthur the whole time, despite his confusion over Francis' request. Alfred wasn't the world's most number one social guy, quite obviously. He wasn't one to go up to someone and say "hello" with ease, with a smile, with curiosity. No, he was one to stay in the shadows until someone addressed him, then come crawling out meekly. And even then he would constantly be wary of his surroundings.

So he figured the best way to hit Arthur's good spots was to find all of them first, then work with that. The only good thing about him that Alfred considered "nice" so far was his boldness. That was about it. And even his boldness could be mistaken for hostility to average people. But Alfred found it astounding, how Arthur wasn't afraid to speak his mind despite the possible repercussions it would inevitably bring. And maybe his physical appearance. He wasn't Tom Cruise or Leonardo DiCaprio, but he was pretty good-looking compared to many others.

…Yes, that was pretty much it. Everything else about Arthur was pretty much negative. His facial expression was almost always set in a deep frown, scowl, or just a bored expression. It was like it was hard work for Arthur to smile. That Alfred understood, as he wasn't much of a smiler himself. But he smiled on occasion, like when he greeted businesspeople or saw something fairly amusing. But for Arthur, smiling seemed to take up a lot of willpower and energy.

All in all, Alfred thought he pretty much knew most of Arthur's characteristics toward someone who wasn't a customer to begin with. Just a random commoner

That left Arthur's reaction toward customers. They had to be treated well, didn't they? Or why else would this place have been able to stay in business? If it wasn't Arthur's hospitality toward the customers, then maybe it might have been Francis' cooking. But even the cooking couldn't outmatch the attitude…could it?

Alfred was stumped. All the while Arthur had been working, his back was turned so Alfred couldn't see his reaction to the customers. He also talked in a low tone, so Alfred couldn't tell whether it was a nice tone or a tone laced with malice. Also, his mind was preoccupied with trying to figure out how to befriend Arthur. He had to pay attention…

As if on cue, the woman Arthur was attending to suddenly dropped her fork.

"Oh, my goodness," the flustered woman gasped as the clinking registered in both hers and Arthur's minds.

Arthur turned to the noise, and in a split second, picked it up.

Boy, was Alfred surprised at what he saw.

"I-I'm so sorry!" the woman apologized, petite features of her face contorted into that of a worry. Her red glasses stooped down near to the bottom of her nose, her sandy blonde hair tied into a messy bun behind her head. Everything about her seemed to be small.

Unlike the brashness he would have used with Alfred, Arthur just smiled. Alfred noticed it didn't look at all forced. It seemed…natural. Like the right pair of jeans fitting you just right. His smile seemed genuine. Not a hint of façade filled the air as Arthur picked the fork up good-naturedly.

"It's fine," Arthur replied in a soothing tone, seemingly calming the woman down all at once. "Don't fret. Let me get you a new one"

The woman's anxious eyes fluttered into its natural serenity, as she smiled brightly at Arthur. "Thank you, Arthur," she said. Oh, so she knew Arthur? She must have been a regular. Or she made friends with Arthur quickly in the short amount of time she was here. That was highly unlikely, however, if what Francis said was true.

Nevertheless, Arthur maintained the air of sincere, soothing, and calming feelings, and walked up behind the counter to get a new fork.

Alfred slumped. What was it with Arthur? Was he nice or mean?

Of course, it was a problem on Alfred's part that he kept trying to categorize people into one section only. He didn't know before, but he noticed himself that he had a tendency to put people into one circle at a time. It never really occurred to him that people were able to have many faces, for lack of a better word, to them. But Arthur had unknowingly opened his eyes to the harsh truth: no one had only one side to them.

It was very superficial on Alfred's part.

Arthur had made his way over to the woman once more, once again assuring her that it was alright, and handing over the new fork. She accepted it with a tight, still-worried smile, and began to dive the fork into the small cake before her.

'There's a lot of sides to you, huh, Arthur?' Alfred thought. Up until now, he'd only encountered people with one motive: Money. Anyone that had approached him had a greedy look in their eyes.

Maybe if Arthur knew, he'd approach Alfred that way too.

'No,' Alfred bit his lip. 'Arthur isn't like that. I don't really know him that much, but he's not like that. I just know it.'

All of a sudden, Alfred wanted to protect Arthur from his thoughts, from his negativity, from his pessimistic side, from his doubts. Arthur didn't deserve to be part of his doubts. Arthur seemed like a sincere, honest, hardworking man. And as cliché as that sounded, it was true.

The bell ringing broke Alfred out of his thoughts.

Why did it seem like the door was being forced open, rather than just a regular enter?

"This where you're working, Artie boy?" A sneering voice laced with malice asked the man with a condescending, arrogant tone.

Alfred looked up to the voice. It turned out to be more than one person. Three, to be exact. And not a pleasant site to behold, either.

The three honestly weren't what you would call "orderly". Alfred knew it was unfair to judge others at first glance at this point, but he just KNEW they weren't exactly good guys. The man who had entered with the exclamation looked to be in his 30s, haggard and red-faced, his hair color matching his face. The other two were blonde and…green-haired, all with piercings laced through various parts of their face.

And all of them seemed to be drunk out of their minds. In broad daylight.

Alfred looked to Arthur, who apparently, was staring at something in the side rather than these three hooligans, wondering with a hint of amusement how the neat gentleman would handle this.

But to his surprise, Arthur was frozen in place, a metallic tray in hand.

With the same terrified eyes from before. Where he was lost in his own labyrinth. Arthur was scared.

Alfred's eyes widened, but his attention turned back to the gang when the voice boomed again.

"Aren't you gonna freakin' answer me, Artie?!" The leader of the pack exclaimed. At this point, the many customers looked up with interest, noting that the tone of the voice wasn't from friendly, old acquaintance as they thought it would have been.

Alfred heard a shuffling from next to him. Francis had come out of the Employees' Only room, hearing the commotion. As soon as he saw the three men, his face quickly changed into an angry, shocked one of pure hatred. His eyes seemed to lock in place, teeth grinded, fist curled up into a shaking ball of anger.

"What happened, Artie, cat got your tongue in the past years? What, think you're too cool to talk to us, huh? Fuckin' QUEER." The blonde sneered. The green-haired one spat.

Queer? That was a new term. Alfred suspected it wasn't a good one.

What was Arthur doing? Wouldn't he have thought of a snappy comeback by now?

But to Alfred's dismay, Arthur didn't look up or at them. His head remained to the side. His hands seemed to be shaking a bit. He was truly afraid, Alfred noted.

'Arthur,' Alfred thought, tongue tied. 'Arthur, what's wrong?'

"Ya think yer too good for us, is that what it is, you fuckin'…fuckin' ass? Huh? Just 'cause…just 'cause you skipped high school and went straight for Oxford?" the green-haired one yelled. His speech was slurred drastically from the alcohol.

Skipped? Alfred did hear Oxford in Arthur's introduction, but he assumed he dropped out of high school and took an honorary course in the prestigious university or something.

"Look where it got you, homo." The redhead cackled, kicking a nearby table and startling the customer behind it. "Workin' at some frilly-ass café that ain't worth for SHIT!"

Francis banged his fist on the counter, turning everyone's attentions to him.

"You three seem to be mistaken," he practically growled out, rage causing his voice to shake. "This isn't a bar or a nightclub you can get wasted at. This is a café."

The redhead slowly turned his head to Francis. "So, watchoo gon' do about it, Frenchie? You gonna kick me out or somethin'?"

Francis glared at him. "If you would so kindly take your leave now."

All three of them remained silent for a moment, then started to burst out in laughter.

"H-HE TELLS US T-TA LEAVE!" The green-haired one was tearing up from the laughter.

"WHY THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE'D LISTEN TO YOU, HUH?" the blonde grabbed his rather paunchy stomach as he laughed, doubling over, spit landing on his scraggly chin.

Arthur suddenly straightened up and faced the three. Alfred stood up, as well.

"Get out," he mumbled in a low tone. Alfred heard the shaking in his voice.

The redhead stopped laughing. "What?"

"GET OUT," Arthur said with a bit more confidence, or maybe it was just the volume that had risen. Even the drunk bastards could probably hear the shakiness.

The redhead stalked up to Arthur in a matter of seconds, his two friends trailing along.

"An' what if I say no?" he sneered.

All the strength seemed to drain out of Arthur. His hands went slack. Alfred could tell he was a mere few seconds away from collapsing.

"I…" Arthur stammered.

"Stop it," Alfred blurted out, before he could try and stop the words from coming out.

The gang simultaneously whipped their attentions to Alfred.

Alfred had a momentary lapse of regret that he ever said anything. But he figured it was for the best. He couldn't bear to see Arthur so out of character like that. So helpless.

"Get out," Alfred commanded, stomping up to them and pushing Arthur behind him.

The redhead laughed. "Oh, oh, this is- this is RICH. Artie's a damsel in distress now, that what he is?!"

Alfred grit his teeth. He regretted nothing. "No. He wants you to get out. He's the owner of this place. So get out. Get wasted in broad daylight somewhere else."

"Don' tell me what to do!" The redhead banged the woman's table, startling her and making her drop the fork again. He grabbed her plate with her half-uneaten cake and threw it to the ground. The plate shards shattered into what looked like a million pieces.

"I think you're new here, not from England, eh?" The redhead slurred, hot, alcoholic breath in Alfred's face. "I also don' think you know who this lil' son of a bitch is."

The blonde pointed to Arthur, almost accusingly. "This sick bastard his GAY."

Alfred's face must have been blank, so the green-haired man sighed with exasperation.

"Gay. Homosexual. Likes other guys. LIKES MEN." He twirled his finger near his temple, indicating how "crazy" the thought was.

"So, now you know. Now you know what this little bitch really is. He's nothin' but a sick homosexual. Bastard even went to church when he was lil', with his mom and dad. Well, they hate him, too. Failure as a Catholic. Failure as ANYTHING, freaking queer. If he went to such a greeeeaaaaaat college, then why would he end up in this fancy-schmancy hole?"

"I'm calling the police," Francis warned, sliding his phone out of his pocket. "This time, they'll see what you did. We have cameras now, you know."

All three glared at him, and spat on the polished ground as they turned around one by one, stalking off and glaring at anyone who was staring (which was pretty much everyone). The blonde kicked an empty table as he left, causing it to fall on the floor.

"Not that they'd take a side for a FUCKIN' QUEER!" The redhead cackled as he shut the door tightly, causing the bell to ring in a chaotic pattern and people to flinch.

Alfred was shocked. What had just happened? Queer? Homosexual? Gay? Arthur?

He looked behind him for Arthur, who was already on his knees and picking of the shards of glass.

"Let me help you with that," Alfred offered, bending down. It wasn't as if there was anything else to say, and he figured it was fitting to the situation. But Arthur just slapped his hand away, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. He flinched as he pricked his finger on a small, especially sharp shard, but kept on collecting the pieces. Alfred stood up again, looking down at Arthur.

The other customers seemed at a loss for what to do or say, as well. One by one, they finished up their food, left their bill silently, and walked outside, the quiet chiming of the now calmed bell the only indicators of when they'd left.

Alfred's attention was stuck to Arthur, who still kept his head down. The only people who remained was the woman who had dropped her fork, who was looking down worriedly at Arthur, a couple near the loveseats who were occupied with some magazines, and an old lady in the far left corner.

'Why is he keeping his head down?' Alfred thought.

Then he knew.

Arthur had been crying.

Funny, he didn't sniffle or shake when he cried. He was good at hiding his tears. No one would have known he had been crying. Not even Alfred, if it weren't for the fact that he was as observant as Sherlock Holmes. But why had he cried? Was he terrified of the three?

No, the tears smelled of something else.

Alfred just couldn't place his finger on it.

"Ah…" Arthur said, after a long period of eerie silence. His voice wasn't at all sniffly or anything of the sort. It sounded smooth, like it always was. "You seemed to have dropped your fork."

He wasn't really talking to anyone, not the woman who the statement should have been directed at, nor Alfred. He seemed to be talking to himself, if anything.

"Don't fret. Let me get you a new one."

* * *

**Oh dear D:**

**Poor England...  
**


	7. Of drunken tirades and insights

Alfred froze in front of his door, keys in his hands but his hands refusing to stick them through the keyhole.

He was so scared.

When he had stood up to the men who barged into the cafe, he didn't realize just how much he had been shaking until after everything had returned to somewhat the definition of "normal". He was shaking so badly Francis had to get him a cup of water to calm him down. After the water, Francis gently told him to go home early, but not adding an explanation as to why he should. He didn't have to, though, since it was obvious what his message was.

What scared him the most was how mundane it all seemed to Arthur.

Sure, he'd shed a few tears, but after that, he was all smiles to the customers again, the ones who came in after the incident happened. The ones who had no idea what was going on. He showed no sign of what had just happened, and served the customers with a smile and courteous words.

Alfred would have been so broken down by then.

He'd arrived home with newfound ease then, somewhat finding his way to the apartment without getting lost and having to ask for directions (which would have ended up in him completely breaking down and having a panic attack in the middle of the street). However, even this accomplishment wasn't much of a breakthrough for Alfred, when it really should have ended up in him having a party from himself.

Was it really so normal for Arthur? For people to barge in on his cafe and calling him names, breaking plates, throwing down utensils, and scaring the customers? What if this wasn't even the extent of it all? What if people stopped him in the streets and told him just how disgusted they were of him? Was it really all so routine?

Alfred gently kicked the bottom of the door with his shoe, silently pondering as to what he could do in this situation. Leaving Arthur alone seemed like a good choice, yet something told Alfred it wasn't a nice thing to do, to ignore someone who had just gotten insulted to the point of tears.

How much could Arthur have been hiding? How much emotion, how much pent up frustration? How much sadness under the layer of properness and fake smiles?

Fake smiles. It occurred to Alfred that the smiles Arthur had offered after the incident weren't so honest, weren't so real. Now that he thought about it, the smile on Arthur's face always seemed to have a tone of uncertainty and sadness behind it.

Was that how Arthur hid his sadness? Was that how Arthur managed to keep sane, or maybe how he hid the insanity that had been growing inside of him after all this time? Or maybe it was how Arthur kept up his appearances, to not seem to be bothered by anything. Maybe he thought it was an effective way to ward off his haters.

Slowly, what Francis had told Alfred to do started to make sense. Arthur must not have had many friends to tell his troubles to. Not that Alfred did, but he always had his maids and butlers listen to him complain about life (which seemed so stupid now compared to what Arthur had been through). Arthur had no one. Maybe Francis, but telling the same person over and over again about your troubles was bound to get repetitive. He didn't seem like the type to be close to his family either, judging from the lack of any family pictures in his house.

And in some ways, Arthur was so alike to Alfred.

"Arthur," Alfred whispered to himself as he held his house keys in his palm, trying to comprehend Arthur.

He was this maze that Alfred had trouble figuring his way out of. All the other mazes he'd been in up to this point in life, he could easily find his way out of, and categorize into certain groups. However, Arthur was a challenging one. He wasn't straightforward at all, yet seemed like it. He didn't seem to have any secrets, yet something told Alfred he really did. He seemed to be brave, yet he was a cornered, scared mouse in reality.

And maybe it wasn't just Arthur who hid his troubles behind a smile.

Maybe, in reality, all people hid their troubles behind a fake, fabricated smile, to keep from worrying their loved ones.

Maybe all the businessmen who had approached Redmount weren't always so greedy. Maybe they had a family that was depending on them to earn money to keep them alive and under a roof. Maybe they all had a reason to get money in whatever way possible, a good, solid, reason.

Alfred's head hurt.

Was he always so shallow? He'd always thought of himself as a deep, thoughtful person, but it seemed like the only deep water he'd plunged into all this time had been 3 feet deep.

"What the bloody Hell are you doing?"

Alfred's thoughts immediately froze as he turned quickly to the voice with one thing on his mind: Arthur.

"Art-" Alfred began, stopping when he saw an intoxicated Arthur with an arm slung around Francis' shoulder for support.

"He's all yours," Francis sighed, slightly nudging Arthur away, causing him to fall right into Alfred's arms.

"Wait, what am I supposed to do?" Alfred asked, trying to steady himself and the teetering man in his arms.

"It's a good chance to bond with him," Francis gave a wry smile. Alfred could tell Francis was used to it, and just wanted a peaceful night for once, therefore dropping his load of work onto Alfred.

"But I don't-" Alfred began, still flustered.

"Goodnight, Alfred~" Francis sing-songed, skipping into the elevator as fast as he could and offering a fingery wave before the doors shut.

Which left Alfred alone with a very drunk Arthur.

"Whatthehellishappening?" Arthur slurred, applying most of his weight against Alfred, depending on him to hold him steady.

"Ah, Arthur," Alfred said nervously. "Um, how are you?"

Great starting sentence, Alfred.

"2 more shots, for me and my friend over here!" Arthur had a silly, untroubled smile on his face as he gestured toward nowhere in particular.

"Arthur, you aren't at the bar anymore." Alfred tried, wondering if this would bring Arthur to his senses.

"Whaddaya mean I'm not at the bar anymoooooarr?" Arthur pounded a fist against Alfred's chest, which, frankly, did hurt a little.

"This is my house. Apartment. I'm not Francis, I'm Alf- I mean, Alan." Alfred corrected himself. He kept forgetting he was "Alan". But he supposed Arthur wouldn't even notice if he tripped up.

"Eh? Alaaan?" Arthur muttered. "Oh, right. Aaaalaaan! How are ya?" Arthur snuggled deeper into Alfred, wrapping his arms around the said man.

Alfred gulped, wondering why his heart just skipped a beat. Maybe it was because he was nervous again. What were you supposed to do when an intoxicated man was in the middle of glomping you in front of your apartment?

"Arthur..." Alfred muttered. "Arthur, let's go in." He tried coaxing the drunk man as he fumbled for his keys again and turned to his door, or at least tried to as Arthur held on tight.

"Go in where? We're already at the baaaaar, Alaaan." Arthur was drunk for sure. Alfred sighed. He'd never had to deal with an intoxicated person before, and he sure didn''t know how to deal with it now.

"No, Arthur, we're at my house. Alan's house." Alfred replied, hoisting Arthur up and grabbing the key to his house, unlocking the door in one fell swoop. Finally, he did something right! Alfred hurriedly dragged Arthur into his apartment, finding Arthur to be a slight of a hassle to pull in.

Arthur forcibly latched himself onto Alfred, and it was getting really hard not to suppress the urge to just drop Arthur onto the floor and leave him be until he was sober. But nevertheless, he was supposed to get close to Arthur, not cause him to hate him forever.

It took a considerable amount of time, but Alfred finally got Arthur to his bedroom, which was still very much unkempt. He gently laid the babbling Arthur down onto his bed, and fled the room quickly.

Was that a good idea, to just stick him on the bed like that and walk out? Alfred had a hunch this wasn't exactly a good idea. But his body didn't want to go back in. Besides, he himself smelled like alcohol now, and he really didn't like the smell of it. It always made him somewhat drunk himself, as well as lightheaded.

Alfred shook his head. He had to stop thinking so much.

"I need another shot or siiiiixx!" Arthur whined from the room.

Then again, thinking was good! Yes, thinking got you places. Thinking is a good excuse as to why you couldn't hear a very obviously drunk man screaming for more alcohol in the room next door. Yeah, thinking is a good thing.

"Why..." Alfred heard him speak again, but this time, he could hear the tears evident in his voice. Oh God, was he CRYING now? Alfred didn't know how to deal with an intoxicated man, much less a crying one...

"I ain't my fault I'm gay, Allistor, God damn!" his voice sounded choked up, with a hint of pain behind it. Alfred was taken aback at the sudden change of dialect. He sounded like a ruffian on the streets, very similar to the people who came in and trashed the cafe earlier. Alfred decided to keep listening, very interested in how this would turn out. Maybe he'd learn more about Arthur this way, although learning about a person through a drunken tirade wasn't exactly the best way to get to know a person.

"Well I ain't gon' end up like a...like a _you_! Like a bum on the streets, lousy fuckers..." Arthur mumbled, sounding somewhat defeated and hurt. Very hurt.

"That inheritance ain't gon' last vury long, either, why can't you see that I'm yer only hopes by now!" Alfred's breath hitched. An inheritance? So Arthur must have come from a considerably wealthy family, if there was an inheritance. and from the word "hopes", Alfred assumed Arthur was talking about more than one person, most likely his siblings who would inherit the family fortune with him.

"Why can't you just fucking accept me for who I am, you wankers...lousy fucking gits!" Alfred inched closer to the door , trying to hear better, since Arthur's voice had just gone down at least 2 octaves lower. So this wasn't the first time anyone had berated him for his sexual orientation. Maybe his own family didn't accept him, either.

that was the saddest thing Alfred had ever heard in his life.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry for..." Arthur sounded sniffly. Choked. And very, very wrecked.

And defeated.

And lost.

And alone.

And HURT.

Alfred's heart broke as he continued to listen. For a minute, Alfred couldn't tell what Arthur was saying, because from then onwards, it was all slurs and nonsense. Then he fell silent. Alfred cocked an eyebrow and inched closer to the room, wondering if he just wasn't hearing anything.

"ALAN!" Arthur's suddenly sharp voice, contrasted from his earlier slurring, caught Alfred's attention.

"Y-Yes?" Alfred called out meekly, immediately backing away from his room, afraid he got caught listening in.

When no response was heard after a moment, Alfred silently tiptoed his way to his room. Arthur had passed out.

He walked his way over to his bed, observing Arthur for a moment. His face was red and he reeked of alcohol, tears running down his face, eyes scrunched up. He was nowhere near the image of the perfect English gentleman Alfred had seen a few hours ago.

He seemed like a person who had pretty much given up on everything.

Alfred sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at Arthur with concern. Was Arthur always this broken inside? If he were, he did a good job of hiding it.

Maybe it wasn't only Arthur who had so many secrets inside. He clearly had it really bad, but maybe everyone Alfred had ever encountered in his life before, bumped into on the streets, had something they hid, had secrets they just could not tell to anyone, keeping it bottled inside and releasing with alcohol.

"You are..." Alfred began. At a loss for anything coherent to express his feelings, he sighed and inched over closer to Arthur, touching his hand slightly. At the moment, Alfred didn't care if anything was socially appropriate or not, he clutched Arthur's hand with all the force he had, like it would somehow convey all his mixed emotions to Arthur. Like it would help patch him together again, before he got broken. He held Arthur's hand tight, for all he was worth.

"You are the most confusing guy I've ever met in my life."

* * *

**Augh. Sorry this is super late...school started and I'm under of lot of stress, my grades really suck and I'm just really busy these days... ;A;**

**But that isn't an excuse to keep my wonderful readers waiting! I apologize deeply!  
**

**I love you all ;w;  
**


	8. Of awkward showers and friendship

**Before this chapter begins, I deeply apologize for my hiatus. I haven't updated in about 6 months but a lot of personal things have been happening as of late, and this just wasn't one of my bigger priorities. I'm so terribly sorry, dear followers and readers of this little story, but now I'm back and churning out chapters like an ice cream factory, so thank you for anyone who's stuck with me this whole time. Chapter 8 everyone!**

* * *

"You're a complete idiot, old chap," he says. I can almost see that same toothy grin on that same pale, freckled face, the mockery in those ironically clear blue eyes.

"I can't help it," I reply, brushing a branch out of my way, walking in no direction in particular. This forest has grown since the last time I had visited. It has become more diverse in color as well. Almost to match the sickeningly pinkish shade of his hair, but less gradient than that. Kind of like fall colors but a bit brighter.

"Which is why you're an idiot," he chirps. He sounds like he's smiling. I'd expect no better from him.

"Well, that's one statement I've heard too many times," I say abruptly, trying to brush these damn leaves out of my way. But the forest just keeps on growing. It's a cluttered, tangled mess of bushes, roots, and leaves, all rotting and decaying and utterly sad, left alone, not cared for, slowly disintegrating into a pile of rubbish, of nothingness.

"I know," he says. And somehow I know that's the last response I will get out of him before I turn back. Too much darkness, too many tangled roots and decomposing leaves. I don't like this.

This forest can be kempt another time.

Alfred was extremely tired.

He had spent the whole night more or less next to Arthur, flinching at every little movement the Brit initiated and making sure he stayed asleep. But due to that, he didn't get any sleep of his own.

Which was really ridiculous, considering this was his own house.

"What time is it...?" Alfred mumbled, fumbling for his phone. He had lost it somewhere inside the house, losing track of it throughout the course of the night. Alfred cracked a small smile at the instant reminder of a new Adventure Time episode coming out that week (it seemed childish, yes, but Adventure Time was a show he could relate to); it was something he could look forward to. Especially after...yesterday night.

As he checked the time, he heard a stirring in his room, the unfamiliar sound of the crinkling of his bed caught his attention. It wasn't too early, but not too late either; the cafe still probably wasn't open. And with that, he concluded it was okay to go wake Arthur up.

...well, he hadn't had to do much, as Arthur was already up and "what the bloody Hell"'ing under his breath by the time Alfred reached the room, which frankly, didn't take too much time.

"Alan," Arthur said with a deadpan tone in his voice, bringing a sheepish, barely-there grin to Alfred's lips. This was the one situation Alfred had feared the whole time subconsciously: dealing with Arthur after the whole drunken tirade.

"Good morning, Arthur?" Alfred tried, but his statement came out to sound more like a question than anything. Oh, God, please, no, anything but this, anything but having to deal with a confused, hangover-driven man who had ended up in his bed after a night of drunken sobs and confessions and so many confusing incidents- why was Alfred sweating so much?

"Good morning," Arthur replied.

Alfred blinked. Um. Wow. this was totally not the reconciliation he expected to deal with after a night's worth of drinking from a troubled British man. Actually, he didn't know what he was supposed to expect, he just didn't expect something like this to happen. Something so...calm.

"Um...yeah, good morning!" Alfred tried again, a bit more cheerfully.

"You've said that already," Arthur said as he brought his legs over slowly to the side of the bed to stand up. Whether it was a hangover or not, he seemed very unstable and wobbly, not yet fully able to stand up by himself. Alfred rushed over to support him, Arthur quietly leaning into his side. That was weird. Given his brash personality, shouldn't Arthur be protesting somewhat now? But he seemed...calm. Calmer than ever, actually. this was the quietest Alfred had ever seen Arthur to be. His breathing was slower than steady, and his eyes had a dazed, foggy look to them. Was this how a hangover was supposed to be like? Boy, was social media wrong; he knew watching both Hangover movies was just a waste of time.

"You...you don't need anything?" Alfred inquired, genuinely curious as to how Arthur kept defying all kinds of hypotheses Alfred came up with.

"Well..." Arthur steadied himself on the balls of his feet, silently pushing Alfred away from him unintentionally. "I'd like some fresh clothes to change into, mine reeks of alcohol."

Alfred was taken aback. Was it really so mundane to ask someone for their shower when they haven't even gotten to know each other all that well yet? Was it customary to let a drunk person use your shower after a night of comforting them? Alfred pushed all these thoughts to the side of his head for now as he guided Arthur into his bathroom. It was rude to refuse such a sudden request, regardless of morality issues; besides, Arthur really did reek of alcohol and the fresh air from a night's worth of alcohol smell really took its toll on Alfred.

"The soap's here, and the shampoo is there," Alfred pointed out. "Just holler if you need anything else. Oh, and you have to let the water heat up first before-"

"Yes, I'm very well aware of the water problem. I have that problem too. I've sorted that kink out; no worries." Arthur offered a short smile before closing the door.

Alfred shook his head. What had happened? In all honesty, Alfred expected friendship to have the speed equivalent to that of a turtle's. He always expected friendship to slowly bloom over time, It had all moved so quickly and so normally, but completely opposite from Alfred's expectations. Perhaps this was how friendship moved. Quickly and suddenly.

As the water ran, Alfred couldn't help but imagine Arthur in the shower. He seemed to have quite a slim figure, but who knows? He may have been one of those barely-there people with small muscles and barely visible abs...he seemed scrawny at first glance, sure, but something told Alfred he wasn't as scrawny as he looked.

What was he even thinking about? Alfred was beginning to think that the last few days in London had been downsizing his trains of thoughts.

Or maybe the socialization was disrupting the balance he had before London even happened. Maybe socialization took away from his prior knowledge of many things.

Maybe he was just being paranoid. Yes, that was most likely the case.

And then another predicament smacked him upside the head.

Arthur didn't have any clothes to change into, did he?

Was Alfred supposed to sneak into Arthur's house and bring him his clothes?

Or was it fine for Alfred to force Arthur into his clothes?

Everything was so confusing. Alfred began to regret the fact that he ever agreed to come to London. How had he thought he was actually competent for a bigger city like New York? For the longest time, Alfred thought everything could be learned through research, through textbooks, through teachers and tutors and wealth. However, he was dead wrong; there were some things you couldn't learn from paper alone, and that was skills in the social department.

Eventually, Alfred decided sneaking into Arthur's house was the same as breaking in and it was illegal, so he went to find the smallest clothes he had, which, evidently, weren't very small. It would probably look a bit loose on him. But clothes were clothes. Alfred just hoped Arthur wasn't going to freak out or anything; it was only temporary, after all. then he could go to his house and get his own clothes.

So as the water turned off, Alfred sped to the door and dropped off his clothes at the mat. He figured it wasn't very polite to walk in on someone in the shower.

He paced back and forth outside the door as he heard it open.

"Blimey- ALAN!" Came the almost immediate, non-manly shriek. Alfred looked down at the man who had hidden himself behind the bathroom door, dripping with water, hair matted and wet.

"Huh? Oh, hi Arthur, if you're wondering where your clothes are-"

"Alan, you do not...you don't wait in front of the shower while another is in it!"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't kn-"

"Just...it's best not to idly stand there, it's awkward!"

Alfred quickly stepped out of the doorway and waited for Arthur to finish drying off and dressing.

Yeah. Reeeally starting to regret this whole thing.

Alfred sighed. Maybe meeting Arthur was the start of this whole mess. Maybe being affiliated with all these problems dumped on him the moment he set foot in that cafe was Arthur's fault...

No, Alfred wasn't going to start the blame game. Arthur had been hospitable, and if Alfred were dealing with someone like himself, he sure as hell would be nowhere near as patient as Arthur has been with him.

The door creaked, and out stepped Arthur in clothes a bit too baggy on him. It was to be expected, Alfred did have a larger frame after all. Something he immediately blushed at, becoming a bit self-conscious as he stood face-to-face with the smaller man.

"Thank you," Arthur offered a small smile. "I needed that."

It was one of those smiles Alfred had come to classify as fake.

"No problem," he swallowed back a retort that could possibly set a fire to Arthur's already short fuse.

The two stood awkwardly before Arthur cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly.

"I suppose I need to explain what went on back there, hm?" Arthur muttered, eyes downcast, lacking the shining confidence he had when he met Alfred for the first time.

Alfred bit his lip. Was this really what heroes did? Forcefully interrogate the innocent? If Arthur were evil, that'd be different, but was it really so fair to force someone tell Alfred something that was probably very personal? Something Alfred had no business in knowing? Even though that person did kind of spend the night in Alfred's apartment and borrowed his clothes?

"You...you don't have to, if you don't want to." Alfred chose his words carefully, glancing back at Arthur, who looked up with a sad smile.

"No, I'm perfectly fine with telling someone else my story, if that's what you're bloody concerned about. I just hope you aren't a sucker for sappy stories, because this is as sappiest as it could get."

Alfred could tell Arthur was trying to pass this off as a light scene, but when three drunken, surly men stomp into your store in the middle of day, screaming obscenities and spitting everywhere, that wasn't anything near light.

"You don't have to pretend," Alfred mumbled.

"Pretend what?" Arthur asked.

"That this is okay. All of this, just..." Alfred turned his head, unsure of what to say. "It's a lot for one guy. If you feel uncomfortable in any way..."

There was silence for a moment, before Arthur chuckled lightly. "Cheeky bloke. Do you think I go spouting my life story out to just anyone? I trust you, Alan, in the short time we've known each other. I know you're not a bad person."

Alfred felt guilty. Arthur trusted him this much and he didn't even have the decency to tell him his real name.

"But..."

"Let's sit down, and I'll talk, okay?"

Alfred acquiesced.

And so that's how Alfred found himself sitting on his bed, with Arthur by his side, listening to the story of a person he'd just met a few days ago, and listening to him like he was an oldtime pal and not just some random clueless American here for larger reasons than a vacation.

Like a friend.


	9. Of Tragic Backstories and Heroes

There was an awkward silence before Arthur began to speak.

"I was born into a little family in England, as you can see." He sighed and folded his hands in his lap, sort of twiddling his thumbs a bit before looking down slightly. Refusing to look at Alfred directly. Refusing to show the hurt.

"It was me and my three brothers, and one sister," Arthur smiled sadly. "I think you can infer as to who those three assholes were."

Alfred's eyes grew wide as he struggled to let the fact that Arthur had siblings, siblings which loathed him for his very existence, sink into his mind. He blinked. Didn't family mean that the members stuck together through everything? Of course, he wouldn't know; it's not like his family was ever really there for him. His own mother was a rare sight, he didn't have any siblings, and he only saw his father a few times in an entire year. The maids and servants seemed to be his family for the eighteen years he was alive, but he was starting to question even that as well.

"But...to say those kinds of things to your own family member..." Alfred shook his head in disbelief and disgust.

Arthur shrugged, as if this was but a mundane ordeal. "I suppose it was inevitable. They never really liked me. I mean, I _was_ a mistake, unlike them."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Mistake?"

Arthur chuckled, but it sounded so hollow and melancholy that Alfred's heart fell.

"Yes. My parents never meant to have me, but I suppose one day the condom broke accidentally." Arthur's smile reminded Alfred of a chainsaw trying to carve its way through cement. It was hard and forced. "I wasn't meant to know that, but I overheard it one night when my relatives were over. The only person other than my parents who ever cared for me was my sister, Daley, but as soon as she turned 21, she left the house for a life as a traveler, running away with some unruly man to sail the seven seas, or whatever."

Alfred nodded his head unknowingly, as Arthur continued on.

"I was twelve when she turned 21 and left. Of course, I was devastated; Grant, Glyn, and Donovan always treated me like shit. Even when I was but a little kid, they excluded me from their activities, teased me for my short height, shoved me around because I was apparently fun to make fun of. My parents did what they could to stop this but as I grew, they grew too, and my parents had less influence over them altogether. Daley was the only person who actually treated me like a human being. And even from miles across the world, when I told her of the news that I came out, she accepted it wholeheartedly. Not that it meant much, as she was on the other side of the country as I was tortured with cruelty in my home and outside."

"What's coming out?" Alfred blurted. Arthur looked irate for a moment but it passed as he realized Alfred was genuinely confused.

"It means you admit you're homosexual, simply put." Arthur said carefully, wanting to avoid a long explanation.

Alfred cocked his head to the side. "What's so bad about that?" As far as he was concerned, it was just another form of loving. At first the thought was strange; but then he realized, there wasn't much difference at all. In fact, it was the same as when someone loved someone of the opposite gender, except the latter part wasn't true. But what was so bad about that?

It dawned on Alfred that it may have had to do something with religion, as Francis had told him. After all, part of his studies was religion, and it did mention in the bible something about it being immoral to lay with another man.

But did that really matter?

If someone wanted to truly be with someone of the same gender, did it really matter? It was love after all.

"It's bad, according to society." Arthur waved off. Apparently it _was _that complicated. Which Alfred didn't understand. Sure he was Christian, but did it mean he had to bash on people like Arthur? Was that the norm?

Even if it was the norm, this was one trend Alfred didn't want to follow.

"Anyway, all throughout my early years, primary, and secondary educations, I was harassed by my brothers without much condolence from anybody, save the efforts from my parents and Daley. In secondary school, I started experimenting with love, but it turned out to be a failure with every girl I've ever courted, per se. They just weren't...interesting. While others focused on the sexual appeal of females, I was more attracted to my own gender than females. Which I found puzzling at first, and wondered if it was just my hormones; but I soon realized that I truly did find men more appealing than women."

Arthur gave a dark, bitter laugh before continuing. "Some shit that landed me into. I took a brave stance and came out by asking out a guy who I really admired, whom I grew to love...and what he did was beyond terrible. He just...he didn't even laugh, or mock me, or anything...he just looked at me with disgust and...and turned and simply walked away. Next thing I knew, the whole school knew, and I became the laughingstock of the whole school, the whole village."

Alfred stared. This was Arthur? the confidence was just a false cover? Arthur was made fun of? Bullied? Arthur was an outcast?

"Arthur..." Alfred muttered, but Arthur didn't seem to notice.

"My grades suffered afterwards, and I purposely stayed home from school in fear of having to face that disgusting mob everyday, having to see the hate notes in my locker, the pushing and shoving in the halls and classrooms, without so much as a teacher batting their eyelashes because they didn't care either. They thought it was unnatural and disgusting, and stayed away. My mother knew why I was staying home, I told her everything; but she remained supportive of me. My father was a completely different story. He became no better than Grant, Glyn, and Donovan and constantly spat disgusting words at me at home. Eventually it became so bad that I..."

Arthur sighed, and it sounded like he was shuddering as well. His hands went to the wrists of the shirt, and he rolled up the sleeve of Alfred's shirt, and turned his arm over so Alfred could see his wrists. Alfred gawked. He realized he had never seen Arthur's arms before, as they were constantly covered up by long sleeves. However, the raw truth had unveiled itself now.

The harsh truth that Arthur had unveiled to someone he had just met a few days ago.

Trust.

His wrists were stitched with battle cries, tears, and pleas for help in the darkness. They were scarred and bruised, a horrifying sight. The wrist of someone so alone in the world that they wanted to end it. End the pain. End the suffering. End themselves. Alfred had to look away.

"I'm sorry...it's terrifying, isn't it?" Arthur tried to laugh, but it sounded like a cough, a sob. "I hate it too. I wish they would go away, but...they haven't yet. I suppose scars last forever, one way or another."

Alfred pursed his lips. The fact that Arthur always tried to cover up his true emotions, his true sadness, with a laugh and a smile, it hurt Alfred just as much as it seemed to hurt Arthur. Steeling himself, Alfred took Arthur's wrist gently and caressed it and softly, the pad of his thumb gently smoothing over the creases of the scars on Arthur's battered wrist. Arthur winced. Not from pain, but from the unfamiliarity of the kindness of the touch. Alfred didn't notice, and continued to stroke Arthur's wrist absentmindedly.

"This led to a complete dispatch of my existence from my family. I was an embarrassment. The one no one wanted to talk about. The one who brought dishonor to the family. I couldn't bear to see my mother's pained smiles anymore, or hear the constant drunken cries of my brothers, or deal with my father. On top of that, my grades had gone to a total pitfall; the college I wanted to go to and boasted so heavily about going to to my no-good brothers, Oxford, of course, rejected me. That was apparently the final straw for my father, and he kicked me out in my last month of secondary school. Luckily, my oldtime friend Francis, one of the only people who stayed with me through my ordeals at school and at home, had just acquired a flat in London for his own studies, and invited me to stay over. This is where our cafe bloomed."

Alfred studied Arthur's face. He seemed more at ease now, but still cloudy and melancholy.

"We needed money in order to pay rent, but Francis was currently in tertiary education and I was basically jobless. However, with the help of Francis's family who kickstarted us, we managed to snag a small venue fit for a cafe, so that we could profit off some while we continued on with our lives. I wanted to create a place where people could feel safe. Hence the title, Cafe Lieu Sur. Of course, Francis didn't bother to sharpen his French in school so he didn't realize that what we typed into Google translate came out to be totally inaccurate and meant something different, but it was fine. A Safe Place. When the world's a cruel place, you need a safe place to stay at. We went for a homely, welcoming look that gave customers a safe place to stay at when they were scared, alone, or just needed a talk. With Francis's cooking and my interest, we managed to make the cafe our little getaway place, and a place where people could spill out their innermost thoughts without being punished or anything. Like that woman whose fork dropped the other day. She's actually a regular; she's been divorced for a few weeks now and she comes to talk about her problems with me."

Alfred looked into Arthur's eyes.

"Why is it such a big deal...why can't people just accept the fact that heterosexual love is not the only love?" Alfred asked. Arthur shook his head, as if to say, "That question had been plaguing me for a long time as well."

"You see, my whole life, I was raised to believe that homosexuality was wrong. Through all my years of schooling, being called "gay" or a "faggot" was the worst fate that could ever befall a person. The worst kind of bullying. Anyone who had enough balls to "come out" was met with few support, but loads of jeers and broken friendships from cowards who refused to be friends with someone who is different from their standards to society. Which I find absolutely ludicrous and disgusting. We're all the same human beings. Why can't we just accept others for who they are, even if they are different? Why must humans be so close-minded and secluded in their own little bubbles? Why can't we just accept who we are and move on?"

Finally, the tears started to pool in Arthur's eyes as the Brit bit his lips softly, to keep from openly sobbing. In a way, it was satisfactory; Alfred couldn't bring himself to tell Arthur to stop pretending it was okay anymore. He told him once and Arthur refused. He didn't want to force the fragile person into doing something he didn't want to. But now his true colors were showing. And Alfred was more than willing to accept him.

Arthur was lost in a world that hated him. And in retrospect, that brought Arthur to hate the world, as well. But that didn't stop him from trying to help others in need, because he knew the pain they went through, and could sympathize with their stories. He knew how to make things right, but no one did that for him. They accepted his help but never returned the favor. And for such a broken man like Arthur, that was one thing that was a major flaw; no one helped him.

"Arthur..." Alfred tugged Arthur's wrist, bringing Arthur closer to him. Arthur allowed some tears to slip past his eyes, as he was slowly and warmly pulled into Alfred's embrace. Neither male made any noise, just the sound of shifting as Arthur was pulled into Alfred's arms, his head buried in Alfred's chest as he let the tears of a lifetime slip by.

It was different from the cafe, because he finally had another friend to cry onto, without provocation or from the influence of alcohol.

This was the first time in a long time he was able to confide in someone other than Francis.

And that someone Arthur had managed to trust in the matter of a few days; not weeks or months or years, but a few days. Enough for him to spill out his broken, yet pieced together life story to. As if it were meant to be.

All this, Alfred realized. And as he pat down Arthur's soft hair, he made a vow out loud. A vow he swore to keep.

"I swear, I'll be your hero, Arthur."


End file.
